The Farmer and His Carabao
Sitting on a saddle-like mounted stones,
Watching the river runs gently yonder,
Wondrous, countless, tiny whirlpools,
Sublimely caught his eyes to ponder;
Alone, he sees, he hears nothing but
To himself as high as the bird flown,
To charcoaled stem of a dead tree, it sat,
Mimicked all noises if he had not known;
Under that tree, his carabao rests in a paddle,
Snorting and snoozing on his muddy cradle,
But his master came to drag him out again,
So he rose without a splash of complain.
Back and forth, he and his master worked on,
To an acre of land that this man only owned,
As they labored together, time didn’t matter,
‘Till the summons of the night ruled thereafter.
Like a glowing star afar from the moonlight spot,
A kerosene lamp lit by the window of cogon hut,
While the son’s fueling a kiln to steam a pot of rice,
The farmer and his carabao made home without sighs.
poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
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Related quotes
Giving the carabao feelings of wings
The carabaos are grazing again
It is summer and
The white herons are teeming
On the green fields
Some take the usual sight
Of friendship
The white heron on top
Of the carabao’s back
They are so close I wonder
If there is this familiarity
Between them
Their friendship has lasted
For centuries
They say the white herons
Feed on carabao's lice
And to repay the kindness
The carabao gives the bird
Its free ground ride
I disagree totally
There is no pecking that I see
And there is no distance
Whatsoever that the carabao gives
This is friendship, this is a picture
Of friendship, the heron is giving
The carabao the feel of its white wings.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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It Is So Common
a common plague
here
how a fly
hovering on
a carabao's back
now behaves
and feels like that
big black
carabao itself?
not uncommon
yet everyone
speaks to no one
about
this discrepancy
as the carabao grazes
on the pastureland
stupidly
as usual
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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319
a common plague
here
how a fly
hovering on
a carabao's back
now behaves
and feels like that
big black
carabao itself?
not uncommon
yet everyone
speaks to no one
about
this discrepancy
as the carabao grazes
on the pastureland
stupidly
as usual
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A matured Kingfisher and a smarten Carp
A Kingfisher rests on a tree top
And listens to a sad song,
A small carp in a muddy pond
Floats and sings; ' My relatives live in a big river
And why should I suffer here.'
Then Kingfisher mutters;
'Hey! My tiny brother if you cooperate
I could have taken you to that river safely.'
'Certainly I would like to accompany my big brother,
But I had a nightmare yesterday a blue bird has taken my relatives
from the river to a lonely ground and eaten them one by one.'
'Those are dreams and we're friends'
Kingfisher whispers while flying to another tree.'
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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History, Science, and Math in Geography
Please let your brevity light open wide
And help those ten fingers do his math
He's a digit off to divide
The light of his way
Into a room full of dreams
Who he should become?
The man who raised him
The man who was his doctor
His teacher, his father
You see! When you lived far from the city
Science did not explain the flow of light
To a child... once upon a time
Imagination
Of a mother he didn't have
He hears who he lost
Dearly but no fear
Feeling her presence around
Solace of darkness
How to cook a pot of rice?
And the lamp showed the flow of light
To fire woods in the kiln
Thus, the flow of eight siblings,
It too explained
The History of population's growth
In the barrio
Among neighborhoods
He learned it somehow
When kerosene lamp is off
They do Math at night
poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
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A fly that lands on a carabao feels itself to be higher than the carabao.
Moonlight river.
moonlight river the eyes are shineing bright.
moonlight river love her with all you might.
moonlight river the darkness is falling.
moonligh river is there such thing off morning.
moonlight river makes my head sway.
moonlight river voice off the ocean on a sand beach bay.
moonlight river i think off her night and day.
moonlight river bring her back to me today.
moonlight river the star's are shineing bright.
moonlight river she is back with such delight.
moonlight river never let her go.
moonlight river tell her i love her so.
moolight river tear's in her eye.
moonlight river why did i have to die.
poem by Neil Derek Singleton
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Patch-Up
His dog was home Alone
He didn't even have a Bone
He layed there, with big sad Eye's
Waiting for his master and his Lie's
His master Staggered In
Really stinking of Gin
Began to tell his Dog
He's late because of the Fog
Now the Dog began to Grin
He knew lying was a Sin
He looked at his Master
And saw a Big Disaster
The night was clear as a Bell
No fog for miles, as he could Tell
So his master did Lie
I guess this would be Good-Bye
The dog packed his Bags
And got all his Tags
Snook out the back Door
Didn't want to see his master Anymore
That Dog did the best that he Can
And the Master was a real bad Man
So that dog took off, for the better Life
And with that bad Man he would have no more Strife
Two years later the Dog Reappeared
He was expecting the worst, he Feared
But that bad man had cleaned up his Act
And had a wife now, as a matter of Fact
Now that Dog had a big Smile
And waiting in the back all the While
Was the dogs new 'wife' and 'Pup'
Yes, there all together now, a Great Patch-Up
P.S. And they all had a Merry Christmas, and lived happily ever after.....
poem by David Darbyshire
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The Star outside my window
It was late
I couldn't sleep
The moon lit night was seaping through my window seam
i quietly rolled over on my tummy
as i gazed out at the starry night
i felt so small and weak looking at the millions of stars
just then one star caught my eyes
It was the biggest most spectacular star in the sky
at first i thought it couldn't possibly be a star
i sat still for minutes staring at it
it didn't move
not once
so i closed my eyes in the dead of night
and carefully made my wish to the star outside my fogged up window
i layed back down my eyes blinking shut
a smile on my face
i fell asleep with the sweet though that it might actually come true
that star still shines outside my window every night
my wish never came true
poem by Deja Noelle Rupp
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Watching For Pa
Three little forms in the twilight gray,
Searching the shadows across the way;
Two pair of black eyes, and one of blue --
Brimful of love, and of mischief too;
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
May, with her placid and thoughtful brow,
Beaming with kindness and love just now;
Willie the youngest, in anguish did lay,
Stealing sly kisses from sister May,
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
Nellie, with ringlets of sunny hue,
Cosily nested between the two;
Pressing her cheeks to the window pane,
Wishing the absent one home again.
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
Now there are shouts from the window seat;
There is a patter of childish feet;
Gaily they rush through the lighted hall --
"Coming at last" is the joyful call.
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Standing on the doorstep,
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Standing on the doorstep,
Watching for Pa!
poem by Henry Clay Work
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~~It was May, The Summer of my 12th Year~~
My fathers' field
acre upon acre of hay
barren in May
from winters blight
perfect for me to play
~~
Flat land
as far as I could see
except for one huge pine tree
a young boy, idealistic still
I thought this tree was grown for me
~~
I climbed the tree most every day
climbing right to the very top
branches formed a perfect seat
magically sitting there
time would stop
~~
Wind would blow, branches creaked
the tree and I swaying with the breeze
protected in my tree
ignorant of life's confusion...
its little ambiguities
~~
Now I wonder, as I sit
in these my twilight days
if only I could travel back
to that my 12th year in May
to hear the wind, smell the pine
and feel the boughs as they sway
~~
I would love to whisper one more time
to my very special tree
thank you so for keeping me safe
and all the memories
but most of all for the excitement
and the passion for feeling free
poem by Peter Shea
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Excerpt: The Magma
the natives are smelling so badly
saliva dries on their lips
they rub carabao manure on their bodies
and put
a dead beetle on their navels
there is no water in the river where they come from
it was taken by thirsty fish towards the
China sea
they are thin
i mean their children who only eat
buds of
the guava tree
their stomachs are filled with air
their
hairs with lice
i guess you know when this happens
and why this happens
because, it is fiesta time
and there is no more road for us to use
because the more important figures
are busy playing
deaf.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When Earth's Last Picture Is Painted
When Earth's last picture is painted
And the tubes are twisted and dried
When the oldest colors have faded
And the youngest critic has died
We shall rest, and faith, we shall need it
Lie down for an aeon or two
'Till the Master of all good workmen
Shall put us to work anew
And those that were good shall be happy
They'll sit in a golden chair
They'll splash at a ten league canvas
With brushes of comet's hair
They'll find real saints to draw from
Magdalene, Peter, and Paul
They'll work for an age at a sitting
And never be tired at all.
And only the Master shall praise us.
And only the Master shall blame.
And no one will work for the money.
No one will work for the fame.
But each for the joy of the working,
And each, in his separate star,
Will draw the thing as he sees it.
For the God of things as they are!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Elm Tree
I lay under this elm
tree hoping to forget
all the sadness
I've witness in this sad
life of mine
I lay there dreaming
of a better life with
nothing but happiness
when he sits down next
to me to say hi beautiful
I open my eyes to see this
handsome angle sitting next
to me glowing like a shining
star...I'm afraid that I'm
still dreaming in till he brushes
my cheek with his hand
he says again hello beautiful
girl why are you all alone
he lays down by me and says
I don't understand how such
a pretty girl would always
be alone we talk for hours
and fall asleep under the elm tree
and when I woke he was gone
without a trace of him
being around again I
start a great guy want such
a horrible girl like me
I'm a sad excuse for a girl
I sit once again all alone
under this elm tree wishing
that guy would come back
so I'm not alone under this elm tree
crying my eyes out with the
hope that I will soon find
the right tree to sit under
poem by Lovely Kayla Bear
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The Pain Of Moving On
A tree looked up to one star and that one alone,
It didn't see any other stars but that one.
It was its bestfriend.
Its happiness.
Its everything.
The tree continued to grow taller.
Hoping, wishing that his height would bring him and the star closer.
Instead the taller the tree grew the further the star got.
The star tempted the tree on some nights, letting its star shine so bright...
so that it seemed closer.
Then it really was.
But the star just wanted to see its beautiful reflection on the tree.
Not to spend time with it.
And the tree watched.
Cried.
Hated.
As he watched the star shine for another tree and forget about him.
Wasted his time.
Cared too much.
For a star he had known all his life,
He watched put others before him.
The sadness was too much to bear.
So it wouldn't grow and was cut down
Down.
Down.
Down.
The star continued to move
Up.
Didn't even stop and think.
About what it had done.
poem by Aurelia Ivy
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Once
I SET a lily long ago;
I watched it whiten in the sun;
I loved it well, I had but one.
Then summer-time was done,
The wind came and the rain,
My lily bent, lay low.
Only the night-time sees my pain—
Alas, my lily long ago!
I had a rose-tree born in May;
I watched it burgeon and grow red,
I breathed the perfume that it shed.
Then summer-time had sped,
The frost came with its sleep
My rose-tree died away.
Only the silence hears me weep—
Alas, lost rose-tree! lost, lost May!
The garden's lily blows once more;
The buried rose will wake and climb;
There is no thought of rain and rime
After, next summer-time.
But the heart's blooms are weak;
Once dead for ever o'er.
Not night, not silence knows me seek
My joy that waned and blooms no more.
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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I Want To Be Free
(words & music by jerry leiber - mike stoller)
Theres no joy in my heart,
Only sorrow
And Im sad
As a man can be
I sit alone in the darkness
Of my lonely room
And this room
Is a prison to me
I look at window
And what to I see
I see a bird
Way up in the tree
I want to be free free
Free - ee - ee - ee
I want to be free
Like the bird in the tree
What good are my eyes,
They cant see you
And my arms,
They cant hold so tight
I have two lips
That are yearning,
But theyre no good to me
Cause I know I cant kiss you tonight
I look at window
And what to I see
I see a bird
Way up in the tree
I want to be free free
Free - ee - ee - ee
I want to be free
Like the bird in the tree
I want to be free
Like the bird in the tree
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Night Landscape
Who knows if a tree
sitting cross-legged in the middle of the night?
Glowing translucent his tears in the shimmering
of the moon and stars
There was a silence called forgotten
together with the time
Sitting with him looked at
losing as much as the memories
The night had countless
Trees with strong roots
walking from time after time
Let the rain keep it!
poem by Imam Setiaji Ronoatmojo
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Long River
Where the long river flows
It flows by my window
Where the tall timber grows
It grows round my door
Where the mountains meet the sky
And the white clouds fly
Where the long river flows
By my window
Theres a tiny bird that calls
And he calls by my window
Theres a lonely tear that falls
And it falls round my door
But when the sun is high
Theres no time to cry
Where the long river flows
By my window
Now if only you could see
The closin of the day
If only you could be
Where the dawn breaks away
By the white cascade
Oh down in the glade
Where the long river flows
By my window
Well when this land was made
It was made full of wonder
But one womans love
I cant understand
And Id give it all to you
If her love were true
Where the long river flows
By my window
Where the long river flows
By my window
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Chattahooche
way down yonder on the chattahoochee
It gets hotter than a hoochie coochie
We laid rubber on the georgie asphalt
We got a little crazy but we never got caught
Down by the river on a friday night
A pyramid of cans in the pale moonlight
Talking 'bout cars and dreaming 'bout women
Never had a plan just a livin' for the minute
Yeah way down yonder on the chattahoochee
Never knew how much that muddy water meant to me
But i learned how to swim and i learned how i was
A lot about livin' and a litttle 'bout love
Well we fooged up the windows in my old chevy
I was willing but she wasn't ready
So a settled for a burger and a grape sno-cone
Dropped her off early but i didn't go home
Down by the river on a friday night
A pyramid of cans in the pale moonlight
Talking 'bout cars and dreaming 'bout women
Never had a plan just a livin' for the minute
Yeah way down yonder on the chattahoochee
Never knew how much that muddy water meant to me
But i learned how to swim and i learned how i was
A lot about livin' and a litttle 'bout love
Way down yonder on the chattahoochee
It gets hotter than a old jacuze
We laid rubber on the georgie asphalt
We got a little crazy but we never got caught
Well we fooged up the windows in my old chevy
I was willing but she wasn't ready
So a settled for a burger and a grape sno-cone
Dropped her off early but i didn't go home
Down by the river on a friday night
A pyramid of cans in the pale moonlight
Talking 'bout cars and dreaming 'bout women
Never had a plan just a livin' for the minute
Yeah way down yonder on the chattahoochee
Never knew how much that muddy water meant to me
But i learned how to swim and i learned how i was
A lot about livin' and a litttle 'bout love
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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